Unfortunately, Garron doesn't find out.

One of Garron's wrinkled, hardworked hands went to the fly of his dungarees, while the other grabbed Lady Naomi's delicate chin. Grinning down at the buxom fighter, he put a thumb between her lips, slapped it on her tongue, and commanded her to suck on it. His victim's mind was still a reeling mess, but she wasn't so far gone as to immediately acquiesce. Though the ugly old smith had, unbelievably, got her so very wet... a not so small part of her wanted to find out what would happen next.

Before she could decide whether to play the part of the dutiful wife or to send him to the afterlife to meet the original, a cacophonous crash came from outside the door to the smithy. The... open door. That she had never closed. Garron, grumbling, stalked over to see what supplies had fallen, while Naomi stayed there, kneeling on the sooty floor, trying not to think about the fact that any passerby would have easily seen a noble warrioress grinding on a dirty old man, moaning on his tongue as he felt her up. As she put her armour back on, she reasoned with herself that Garron' shop was on a hill on the outskirts of town, and the probability was low... but, not zero. Well, she said to herself, this has been another valuable lesson, and no mistake!

"Sorry those puppies have to hide again," Garron said with a lascivious smile as the fighter laced up her breastplate. "Listen girlie, there's a right mess out there, and I guess I've got to fucking take care of it. Take the weapons or whatever it was you wanted, on the house, I don't give a shit. Come back tomorrow morning and we can continue where we left off! Uh, continue helping me with my grief I mean."

"I thank you for your... generosity, sir. I do not think I shall be returning to this place however, myself and my fellow heroes will soon be off on our adventures! On that matter, I would appreciate it if you refrained from mentioning our - um - haggling to anyone, as it may affect my reputation. Uh, no offence. ...oh and please, sir, your bad language does you a disservice. Even one in advanced years such as you would do well to think carefully about what they say! Good day to you." With a smile as weak as her knees, Lady Naomi started to head for the door.

As soon as she turned around the old perv lifted her armoured skirt to get one last look, despite her powerless protests, and absent-mindedly muttered, "Yeah sure, whatever the fuck you say slut. Hey, bring your slutty lapdance friends tomorrow, maybe they look like my dead wife too, eh?" Unable to think of any response to the man, Naomi left with the new weapons wrapped in a thick cloth, and as much dignity as she could gather. She headed straight to the centre of town and did not look back. She was starting to worry that he had taken advantage of her.